Le petit Quince
by Qwein
Summary: A story of Quince Would, a young man who was too tired of having all one would ever need, until an accident involving "the Luggage" changed everything and turned his perfect life upside down


**Le petit quince**

...a Terry Pratchett book not written by Terry Pratchett

_Dedicated to Terry Pratchett, a wise man and a great author of many books of which I have never really finished reading a single one. Well, but for the Wyrd Sisters, if I_'_m not mistaken. But that was a long, long time ago..._

Prologue

How did we get here? What is the meaning of life? Why is it impossible to please women and yet so many men are foolish enough to spend their whole life trying? Such questions have been worrying mankind since the dawn of times. It is well possible they will remain unanswered forever, because although many philosophers, wizards and drunks contemplate such matters, the only two beings in the whole known universe that may possess the answers, or at least creatures I can think of, are Death and Great A'Tuin. The first one of them because he can see the past, the present and the future, and the second, well, let's just say that it has been around for quite some time and it is sensible to assume that it might have gathered great amounts of knowledge over the centuries. The Giant Star Turtle however was not thinking about all of this at the moment. It was too busy trying to stretch its enormous body and straighten its back. It wasn't easy because four giant elephants were standing on it. And in addition to that, these elephants were also carrying the Discworld on _their _backs. And if you this is not enough, try to imagine how _you_ would straighten your back if you were a turtle and had a shell the size of a satisfactory planet. So, one must forgive poor A'Tuin for not meditating on the greatest questions of all times. Show me somebody who would. But it does not matter anyway, because even if it had known all the answers, there is no way for A'Tuin to pass them on us. Its thoughts, as everyone knows, are way too slow and immense for people or all creatures in general to comprehend. So with one candidate out of the question, let's leave the Giant Star Turtle to its solitary journey through the cold dark emptiness of the intergalactic space, and focus on Death instead.

Chapter 1: Yes I would

Sneeze! sounded rather emptily. How else could it sound considering Death has no vocal chords and his chest lacks lungs. Sneeze! I hope I'm not sick or something, It better be just someone thinking about me, said Death to himself. Happens all the time after all. Death shortly squinted into the sun just to check whether third sneeze would come and when it didn't, he spurred his horse and set off. Sneeze! Dammit! Must I point out how difficult it was for him to squint, because he has no eyelids...?

The truth is, someone indeed _was _thinking about him. And this someone was a man called Quince Would, a hero of this very book. Maybe the word _hero_ does not really fit here because Quince was no hero at all. Maybe _protagonist _will serve our purposes better. Anyway, why was he thinking about Death? To be truly honest with you, I must admit that he _was not._ Not about Death but rather about death generally. But the Discworld's sense of grammar and language rules just couldn't handle it otherwise. Too bad for the Reaper Man who's bony ribcage still kept explosively deflating (almost magically, right...?) in unending attacks of sneezing. Maybe it was caused by Discworld's unusually strong magical field. Or it might have been the Disc's gods, much less powerful than we may think as they are, who thought it would only be fair if Death also experienced some of the discomfort of the mortals. Who knows? But let's get back to Would since I am sure you have a lot of questions. I am going to answer them all, patience.

Quince Would was not old nor was he suffering from any deadly disease. No, his reason to think about death (Sneeze!) was far more prosaic and not at all disturbing. He was bored. Not momentarily bored as we are during mathematics lessons or when we have to attend to family celebration of grandmother's eightieth birthday. No, he was bored with his life as it happens to those who have everything they need and desire. I am not going to provide a comprehensive several pages long characterization of our so called _hero_, as you will have the chance to learn all about him throughout this story. If I did so, I would only risk losing readers who could decide they don't like Would right away and close the book. All you need to know now is this: Young Would was a son of one of many wealthy citizens of Ankh-Morpork, the greatest city of the world. At the time our story takes place he was about twenty-three years old and studied at the Unseen University. What do you say? Was he a wizard? Oh no. I see, let me explain first.

You are right, that the Unseen University had been a school for wizards only. But after some dramatic events in the past, when all the level seven and eight wizards tragically had turned into stone, the policy changed. You see, certain Rincewind, a so called wizard who had never made it even to level one, took charge of a non-magic faculty for ordinary students which he founded. Well, not ordinary, just the rich ones. Quince Would was a student of art history, the most useless science (if science at all) in his opinion. Maybe he was right about it, but you have to understand Rincewind's motives. Rincewind wanted no student to have to undergo the same misery as he had. He created an opportunity for the less gifted and hardworking to gain some sort of education and a degree. It was not the easiest way but it was a way. And since Quince was not particularly good at anything else, he took it. Would was everything but happy at the University but unless he wanted to work (and he did not), he simply had to comply with his parents will to prolong his youth. Don't get me wrong, Would's parents were great, but for some reason that Would did not understand they insisted on this one aspect of his life – either study or work. And preferably both. And since _work _was not Quince's favorite activity he did not have much of a choice. But still, apart from that one little inconvenience Would had that what many would describe as _perfect life_.

Or so it seemed. I mean, we still haven't answered the question why Would was thinking about death. I am warning you, seriously that was the last time! Look at Quince. See him lying in his bed with his arms crossed under his head, looking at the ceiling, thinking. He loved thinking. Imagining what it _would_ be like, if... I guess you could call him a daydreamer. He also was somewhat idealistic, but only when it came to matters he liked and considered important. He often filled himself with enthusiasm to do something but after couple days he usually let go and resumed his innate attitude. An attitude similar to one of a dull pile of indifferent rocks during a lazy Sunday afternoon, that is.

And in such particular mood was Quince right now. For the simple reason that he just did not have anything else to do (well but for studying, looking for a job so that he could finally leave his parent's house, cleaning the incredible mess that mysteriously kept arising in his room and generally living his life to the fullest...) he was meditating on what it would he do, had he been given an option to end his life and erase his whole person from the reality. Painlessly, just like that. No grieving bereaved relatives and friends, nothing. One moment he exists and another he doesn't.

_Author's note_

_Notice that the d-word was being avoided in the last few lines, because the poor Reaper Man had had enough. You must realize that all the procedures that promise to stop sneezing jags such as pinching your upper lip, pressing it against your nose or tickling your soft palate with your tongue, require, well, organs like lips, nostrils, tongue and soft palate, none of which he had. So as you see, there was not much he could do himself._

Eventually Would came to a conclusion that he probably _wouldn't_ want tocease existing. Yet still, what an interesting idea. How many people were there on the Disc, who just didn't feel like their lives were fulfilling and would take this easy way?

"Wake up, sir. It is time to do great things!"

Quince jolted, roused from his fantasies. Sometimes he liked this little ritual of his. It originated in recent past, when he had made an agreement with his butler that he would wake Would up with this sentence. Some days, it would fill him with positive energy, optimism and enthusiasm. And other days, well, it would not. Like today.

_Author's note_

_It might seem strange that Quince had the same deal with his butler as one of the greatest sociologists from Earth, a strange and round world that simply floats through the Space without being supported by any animals, trees or spider web. How is this possible, we don't know. Neither do we know the name of said sociologist, because the author of this book simply cannot recall whether it was Auguste Comte or Emile Durkheim. He just wanted to use this rather meaningless fun fact that got stuck in his memory. Also, as the more perceptive readers have already figured, he projects his own characteristics, thoughts, dreams and personal qualities into Quince Would and the idea that he himself might one day do something big and important comforts him. It works as illusionary excuse for being lazy and indolent. See? Tomorrow I will, one day I would._

"Ho-hum, what...?," muttered Would with as least excitement in his voice as you can imagine.

"Have you slept well, sir? You don't look too fresh."

"Hmph..."

"Maybe the fact that it is a beautiful day today and that I have prepared your favorite breakfast for you, a fruit salad, will cheer you up. Got to be strong, big day ahead of you!"

Joremy Slick, Quince's butler, seemed to be perfectly immune to his master's mood changes and was always in high spirits. Sometimes that was so annoying...

"What do you mean, big day?," grumbled Quince as he was slowly fighting his way out from under the blanket.

"Have you forgotten, sir? Today you are meeting Master Rincewind, the dean of non-magic faculty. You are to discuss the matter of your next steps at the University. "

Oh, Quince had not forgotten. He had been dreading this day for some time. Not that he would try to do something about it. About the fact, that he was going to be expelled.

"...the matter of my next steps at the University," said Quince to himself in disgust.

If there was something even more annoying about Slick than this I-am-always-in-a-good-mood attitude of his, it must definitely have been his way of saying things. Quince was not sure, whether he did it on purpose or not, but he would always say something unpleasant in such way that it seemed very positive and optimistic (for like a second or so) but then you'd realize that it only made you feel even more bad about it. Take this last sentence for example – in Slick's presentation, one cannot be sure if it's mockery or encouragement. On the other hand it did not really matter to Quince, since he had learnt to cope with his servant's manners over the years.

Chapter 2: The tipping point

Young Quince Would was slowly walking down a long hall, the longest one in the whole building of Unseen University in his opinion. At the end of the hall was the dean's office. Dean Rincewind's office. Rincewind was definitely a very strange man. Quince had heard many stories about him, some very hard to believe. I was said, that he had even fallen over the edge of the Discworld once. Wasn't it kind of weird that he was here, then? Quince was not sure what to think about the man, after all, he was the one about to tell him to leave the university. And that meant a lot of trouble, explaining, making up fabricated excuses and generally denying that the whole thing was even remotely Would's fault. On the other hand, he could not suppress that queer feeling about him that was niggling at the back of his mind. The feeling that they might just have something in common. Quince took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come on in..."

Quince slowly, very slowly – we mean glacier-slowly – opened the door and went through with his head down, eyes fixed on the floor.

"You requested to see me, sir?," mumbled Quince quietly in expectation of very unpleasant one sided conversation ahead.

Slowly he looked up. Rincewind was sitting in a comfortably looking armchair, facing the window. All Quince could see was a top of the wizzard's hat sticking out above the backrest and one arm laid on a nearby table, that was playing with a fancy pipe, tapping it on the desk. The pipe seemed that it had never been used, since there were no burnt places on it, not even in the inside the tobacco chamber.

"Ah, well, well, well. Now if it isn't mister Would. I was just thinking about you, what a _quincedence..."_

Rincewind turned around in his armchair and faced Quince. He was putting all his effort in trying to suppress a burst of laughter, his mouth corners were twitching.

"_Quincedence!"_

He had been looking forward to making this joke for weeks. His student, however, did not seem to be too amused.

_Author's note_

_Yes, Rincewind had an armchair that could swivel. It was a unique office armchair. He had had it made! Now could we please drop it?_

What he seemed to be, on the other hand, was trying to look like he was not there, casually looking around himself, leaning his back against the door. He almost seemed to have blended in, to be a part of the office, just another piece of furniture. He knew it was coming, he just wanted to postpone the moment for as long as he could. Rincewind was quite uncomfortable with Quince's strange behavior. As a matter of fact, he was not that kind of a vicious university dean, who would enjoy being mean to his students or colleagues. Even the little wordplay of his was meant to create less formal atmosphere for what was about to follow. But at the same time, he expected Quince to show at least some amount of cooperation, at least a tiny bit of helpfulness. He shrugged his shoulders, coughed to clear his throat and gave Quince a strict father-like look. What he saw filled him with mixed feelings. On one hand, young Quince Would was not much more than a lazy laid-back prodigal upstart lad. On the other hand, well, Rincewind himself was not too different from him.

"Mister Would," he started, "where do you see yourself in ten years?"

Quince reluctantly looked at Rincewind, he knew that his delaying of the game was over. His brain went to an overdrive. What is he going to do now, he asked himself. He had several options. He might try to suck up to the dean and possibly buy himself some time at least. Or he could just as well confront Rincewind and show him that he was not afraid of his future, nor anything or anybody else. This of course, would be just a see-through lie. A lie he had been telling himself his whole life. Suddenly he felt so weak and vulnerable. He could swear there was a very cold and slimy lizard (or it might have been a salamander) crawling down his back.

"Honestly sir, I don't know. I have never really contemplated such things."

"Well, I can tell you one thing. Sure as hell you are not going to have finished this university."

The silence that followed was thick and intense, that Quince could almost feel its silky substance between his fingers, its smothering density going down his throat as he was breathing. Rincewind felt it too, but for him it was not that unpleasant. He felt sorry for Quince, but there was very little he could do. It was not his decision to expel the boy, he was just the one who had to do the dirty work of telling him face to face. He was the dean after all. But he had his boss, as everybody has, and he had to answer to him and carry out his orders. And the fact was, he was a dean mostly for his merits of saving the Discworld from the Red star, not for his skills of any kind. Honestly, he was given this job to be put away in the most polite way possible.

_Author's note_

_The details about Rincewind's previous adventures are described in Terry Pratchett's books the Color of Magic and the Light Fantastic._

Finally it was just too much for Rincewind to bear.

"Look, I'm sorry to have to say it like that. If it was up to me, I would give you another chance, but you see, it is not my decision to make!"

Rincewind remembered how it had felt to be expelled from the university when it had happened to him years ago. He had not been too different from Quince then, just as he was not too different now.

"I know, sir," mumbled Quince silently.

Suddenly, the lizard on his back was gone. He could feel his body filling with strength again.

"It's just... It's not fair." Said Quince.

His look was firm and confident now. He was calm and looking at Rincewind with no anxiety any more.

"My whole life, I have had everything I needed. Hell, I have had more. Yet the whole time, I have felt like something was missing, you know? I just knew there had to be something more waiting for me, something big, something great, meaningful and adventurous!"

Rincewind's eyed widened in disbelief and fear. He went into shock. Good thing he was sitting in his armchair, because otherwise he would definitely have collapsed. It was caused by the last word in Quince's sentence. It was an involuntarily reaction he gained over the past years.

"S-s-say again?" He whispered and his voice was wavering.

Rincewind's mind got instantly flooded with memories he had been trying to suppress for quite some time. Memories of all the horrors he had experienced since the unfortunate day he had met the one man on the Disc, who used to talk just like Quince was talking now. Meeting him and foolishly letting him hire Rincewind as a guide was the stupidest thing he had ever done that started a mad sequence of horrifying events that included flying on a back of a dragon, that was only a materialized thought, being enslaved, facing Death several times and last but not least falling over the edge of the world.

Rincewind unintentionally looked left and laid his eyes on a large wooden trunk that was situated in the furthest corner of his office. It had been there for years, slowly getting covered by dust. Rincewind could swear the trunk returned his frightened look and it would have waggled its tail like a dog when it sees its master after some time, had it had any. Quince noticed Rincewind's fearful glance and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. There he was telling his dean about his discontentment with his seemingly perfect life, just seconds after having been kicked out of the university and it was Rincewind, not him, who looked shaken and anxious.

"I was saying, that there has always been something hidden from me. Some aspect of my life that would fulfill the meaning of my existence. Something great and important...," Quince paused for a second, "...and adventurous," he added with due stress on those four syllables.

The previously said lizard that had been crawling on Quince's back and then disappeared, apparently just moved to Rincewind's back. At least he sure could feel its ice-cold little feet tapping on his nape. He took a deep breath and focused all his mental powers on one goal, to regain his cool. He persuaded himself that the damned trunk did not in fact look back at him, since it had no eyes.

"Mister Would," started Rincewind with much more confidence, "I have to say, you remind me of someone. I once had a friend who was just like you... He got us both nearly killed about thirty times."

Rincewind paused for a few seconds and discreetly glanced at Quince looking for a sign of any sort of reaction. He did not notice any, so he went on.

"The true bravery and the purpose of our lives is to obey. It is a law of nature, a law of what some call physics. To fulfill what the world expects of us. There is no such thing as "something greater" above us. The best samurai of all is he who lets his sword rust in his sheath. Or, you know, who does not step out of line..."

Quince stood there in silence. To be honest, he was not paying attention to Rincewind at all. He was utterly focused on a strange object that had just caught his eye. It was a wooden trunk, slightly bigger than a usual one, covered in a thick layer of years-old dust. It was perfectly stationery, inert and inanimate but Quince could swear he heard it talking to him, whispering... He did not understand its words, but somehow he just knew that all the answers to his questions lied within. All he had to do to get them was to reach over there and open the magic box...

Rincewind noticed that Quince was staring in a completely different direction then of his and looked there. His eyes met with the wooden facelessness of the Luggage. And then it happened. We do not know, whether it was destiny, coincidence or simply the Luggage's long suppressed magic force, but suddenly the air got incredibly dense and the room darkened. The space itself started to vibrate with energy and Quince could almost taste a very strange iron-like flavor on the tip of his tongue. Several green-blue sparkles appeared randomly in the room. The Luggage slowly stood up on its countless legs and yawned lazily. Its heavy lid slowly opened and then slammed fiercely shut with a deafening bang. A bright flash of light illuminated the room for a fraction of a second.

Quince was flabbergasted by the strangeness of this sudden action. Rincewind was... ...well, he lying on the floor, unconscious. It was probably too much for him to bear. When Quince noticed that Rincewind had fainted, he immediately darted over to him. And so did the Luggage, looking very, very disturbed and guilty.

"Dean, mister Rincewind, can you hear me?" Quince gently put his hand under the poor wizzard's head.

The Luggage, apologetically slouched, gave him a soft nudge.

"Ahhh..." Said Rincewind opening his eyes just slightly.

"Welcome back among us living!" Smiled Quince. "What happened to you? I mean, what happened in general?" He helped Rincewind to sit up and questioningly looked in his now awake eyes.

"I... I... You know what," whispered Rincewind, "I will, you will, uhh... I will try to intercede with the Archchancellor on your behalf. You will get one more chance... But promise me this, you will never ever speak about adventures and greater things when in my presence..." Rincewind paused for a while. "And you will never speak about such things when in the presence of my Luggage!"

Chapter 3: Things change

Imagine if you will, one of _those days_. Evenings, to be precise. When the air is stiflingly hot and damp, when the Sun sets surprisingly fast and early, when the wind gusts in the particular way which just gives everyone that uncanny feeling that something is just about to happen. The evening following previous events was just like that. Quince Would was sitting in one of the many Ankh-Morpork's taverns called At the Myster's , contemplating what had happened. Among other things. He knew that the laws of nature, the laws of physics for those who care for science, were not unbendable nor unbreakable as a matter of fact. The magic for example, was one of the ways to adjust the reality a little. And Quince had heard there were more, such as utilizing the immense powers of human brain or using super advanced technological devices. Although according to the myths, these were only possible in different worlds, not on the Dics. But who knows?

Quince had never seen such an enormous demonstration of this phenomenon. In fact, he had never seen any at all. The memory of the weirdly colored sparkles, the blinding flash, and last but not least a wooden trunk with legs, was overwhelming his mind that had already been softened by all the beer he had drunk. But what was even more intense was that awkward feeling deep inside his head that something had changed. Quince could not quite say what it could be, but he just knew something was not right.

For instance, he could not help feeling that he saw the world differently. The contours were sharper, the details more distinct. And the colors changed, the spectrum seemed to have shifted into a peculiar greenish-purple tone. Quince did not pay much attention to this, as he attributed it to the flash of light that followed after the strange luggage in Rincewind's office opened and then slammed its lid. And then there was the thing about the beer. It just, it tasted extraordinarily exquisite...

...Quince Would slowly, rather reluctantly opened his right eye. Since he could not identify what he saw, he opened the other one as well. At first the world was blurry but in couple seconds the image became steady and definite. What had seemed to be a flown together blotch of random colors turned out to be a painting of the Great A'Tuin with all four elephants standing atop its shell, carrying the mighty plate of the Discworld. It was painted on a ceiling of a room that definitely was not his. His memory was not exactly in the best of its shape due to the last beerful evening of Quince's, but as far as he could remember _his _room did not have such painting anywhere, especially not on the ceiling.

Quince gritted his teeth against the pain that was threatening to burst his head into million pieces and sat up. He looked around and found himself sitting in a rather luxurious bed located in the corner of a clearly girl's room. And he was not alone. A slim dark haired girl was looking at him from the across the room, comfortably seated in a gold-inlaid armchair. She had a faint smile on her lips and a cheeky spark in her dark eyes. Only now Quince realized that he is in fact naked. He drew a corner of a blanket over his lower body and coughed apologetically.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Typical men! After such a night he asks me who I am," she smiled at him.

"Such a night...? Did we...?"

Instead of answer she smiled at him again, shyly:

"You don't remember, do you? How cute. There is nothing more adorable than apprentice enchanters gone wild after having drunk too much beer... Although I don't blame you, I mean, you are probably not used to such profane thinks like drinking, all you know is thick books, dark hallways and vapors from mysterious essences, right? "

Quince was confused. What was the girl talking about? He could not remember much from the last night, his memory ended in a dark blurry emptiness at the Myster's .

"What, what exactly happened last night?," he asked baffled.

"Alright, let me fill you in. My name is Elleria and we have met, so to say, in the Myster's pub yesterday. I was there with my friends, Sceradila, one of whom is about to get married to this guy called Lynard Sleetfeet. We were throwing her a hen's party. You see they're getting married next week, so we didn't have much time to-"

"Dammit woman, focus!"

"Oh, haha, I'm sorry, I tend to get carried away sometimes. Well, so there we were in the pub me watching you for some time – you seemed to be a bit troubled, sitting there all by yourself..."

Quince Would was staring at her speechless. He was overwhelmed by what Elleria had just told him. And, to be honest, also by the fact that he was lying naked in strange woman's bed. Although it had never happened to _him_, he knew that girls occasionally provided their bodies to unknown men in bars and taverns. But those guys were by his experience usually jerks among whom he did not count himself. But the main reason for his astonishment was the incredible story of his last evening. He still couldn't quite comprehend and arrange everything, but it involved him having drunk himself under the table, two gnolls trying to carry him out of the saloon as ordered by mister Myster, a brief tavern fight when they bumped into a 7 feet tall gentleman on their way out, Elleria's attempt to settle thing down, the said gentleman being turned into a two-headed frog with butterfly wings in a sudden flash of greenish-purple light that blasted from Qunice's fingertips, a wild run through the streets of Ankh-Morpork holding hands with the dark-haired beauty...

"Wait, what?," asked Quince in disbelief. "What do you mean _turned into frog by a flash from my fingers_?"

"Two-headed frog. With butterfly wings. It flew out of the window immediately."

"Yes. That was not exactly the part I was asking about."

"Which one is it then?"

"I don't usually turn people in weird creatures..."

"In your defense, you were pretty drunk, my dear, maybe you just said the spell incorrectly..."

That was just too much for poor Quince. He raised his voice and slowly, very slowly and urgently said:

"You do not understand, woman, I am no wizard, I don't know anything about magic and sure as hell I cannot use it in any way, especially I cannot turn people into animals of any sort!"

Elleria was watching him suspiciously. She narrowed her eyes and tipped her head to the side. She took a deep breath and said:

"Look, I only told you what happened. What I saw. The truth. Nothing more, nothing less. Now it's up to _you _to share some truth with me."

Quince blinked as a sign he did not quite understand her, so she continued.

"You turned a man into a strange cross-bred creature in a bright octarine flash, you have octagon pupils and you tell me that you are no wizard? Come on."

Quince scrabbled on the nearby bedside table and grabbed a craftily decorated hand mirror in a golden stand. He looked into it and widened his eyes. What he saw in them were two small dark octagons where his pupils used to be. Shocked he dropped the mirror which hit the floor and smashed into million pieces.

"What... how... when...," mumbled Quince as he started putting on his clothes. "I am no wizard, I am nothing but a lazy idler almost expelled from the most useless faculty that ever existed."

Elleria tried to break his chaotic monologue but Quince paid no attention to her. As he was rushing towards the door talking about "Rincewind" and "the bloody box with legs" she just gave up and watched him with a sad smile and sympathy in her look. Quince turned in the door with one hand holding the doorknob and gave her a spaced-out look.

"Sorry about the mirror..."

Elleria looked at the place where a pile of glass fragments should be, but instead of it an unbroken undamaged hand mirror lied on the floor. When she looked back at the door, Quince was gone...

Chapter 4: The box is empty

Quince Would, probably the most confused person on the whole Discworld at the moment arrived at the Unseen university. He was completely out of breath. Although he had never before been to the part of Ankh-Morpork where Elleria lived, somehow he just knew exactly which way to go. He found the dean's office and knocked. Since no one answered, he knocked again, much louder this time. Again, nothing at all happened, so he opened the door and helped himself in. The room was absent Rincewind and, as Quince noticed on second look, the peculiar wooden trunk as well. Only a rectangular spot on the carpet where the colors were significantly more intensive suggested that _something _used to be there for quite some time.

Quince was desperate. Rincewind was his only hope for answers. You might say that the whole Unseen university was full of wizards and men of magic, but those dwelled in the faculties where students of non-magical fields were not allowed to go. Not only that but no one from outside these faculties knew where they were or how to access them. Magic, right?

Devastated Quince sat down in Rincewind's armchair. This was not what he craved for. Or was it? For some time he had been thinking about what his life could be like, if... Now he had it, a severe change, and it was only to worse. Quince clenched his fists and hit the table in front of him angrily. The blow echoed in odd hollow sound and a ripple of almost visible vibration passed through the room. Several books in the shelves caught on fire, windows cracked, fringes on the edges of the carped shivered, many bubbles appeared in the paint on the walls and a very surprised 8 foot long tuna fish materialized out of thin air in the middle of the room.

Quince Would opened his eyes wide and carefully withdrew his hand. A scorched spot emerged where he hit the table. His eyes and the eyes of the tuna fish met. Neither could say which one of them was more astonished.

"Alright," said Quince to himself. "Something is very, very wrong and Rincewind, the only man who could possibly know how and why, I cannot find. Think, Quince, think. Who else could be of any help?"

The poor tuna fish was gasping for breath. Quince thoughtlessly started to clean the mess he caused, put out the fire and neatened the carpet fringes. As he glanced at the cracked windows, ruined walls and the bloody fish, which was already trying to formulate its dying wish, he said to himself:

"Well, that is definitely one of the less slick jobs anyone has done, but it'll have to do..."

And then it hit him!

"Slick! Of course, good old Joremy will surely know what to do!"

At about the same time Joremy Slick, Quince's faithful butler, opened the door to Would residence and although what he saw surprised him quite a bit, he managed to keep his calm and courteous manners, as he always did. He was looking at a thin middle aged man wearing a dark red robe on which a few mystic sigils were embroidered in tarnished sequins[1]. His pointy hat said "Wizzard" in once silver letters, and his beard might, with a little good will, support that statement. But that was about it. Everything else about this man was grotesque at least, and we are being quite lenient.

The hat was creased, the robe had several holes burnt through the fabric, not to mention a very suspicious stain over the chest. The man himself was wearing only one sandal, his other foot was bare. He was all sweaty and out of breath, as if he had been running for quite some time. Behind him stood two strong men dressed as janitors of some sort, holding a stretcher with a large wooden chest on top of it. They seemed quite relaxed, as if they were used to such sights.

"How may I help you sir?," asked Slick politely.

"Hmpfh!," gasped the man. "Rince-Rincewind!," managed he to vocalize.

"Master Rincewind, the dean of the non-magic faculty of the Unseen university. I knew you looked familiar. How can I help you, mister Rincewind?"

Slick was calmly smiling as usually, though he knew something very unusual was about to happen.

"I... I'm looking for Quince Would. Is this where... where he lives?"

"It is indeed, sir. Welcome to the Would residence. But I am afraid mister Would junior is absent at the moment. Would you like to come in and wait for him or leave a message perhaps?"

"I will wait for him, thank you. It is a matter of greatest importance."

Joremy Slick stepped aside and watched Rincewind timorously enter, constantly looking back over his shoulder, as if expecting something unexpected to happen. The two porters followed without signs of anxiety.

Quince Would was trying his best not to think about anything as he was running with his eyes closed through the streets of Ankh-Morpork. He probably was not doing too well, since he kept hearing very quirky sounds and people screaming around and especially behind him. By the time he reached his native home, he was sure that he had caused several more outbursts of unchained magic, but he just did not want to know their outcomes. He rushed to his chamber and finally opened his eyes. It did not even occur to him that it was not exactly normal to be able to navigate through overcrowded city blind. Not any more.

All four men currently occupying the room looked up. Three of them were relaxed. The fourth one spilled a cup of tea he was holding in his lap and made a faint scream. Then, as soon as he realized that nothing dangerous would happen and recognized Quince, he stood up with visible relief.

"Quince Would, at last!"

"Master Rincewind!"

Both men darted over to each other and hugged like some old friends who had reunited after a decade of separation. Joremy Slicked lifted his left eyebrow. When Rincewind and Quince finished rejoicing, they sat down at a table.

"Leave us.," instructed Rincewind his two men.

"You too, Joremy.," said Quince, rudely forgetting that it was actually his butler who he was rushing to find few minutes ago.

When they were left alone an energetic discussion broke out. Words like "uncontrolled magic," "frightening change," "turning a man into a frog," "weird colors" and even "adventurous" were flying through the air. Finally when both men seemed to have said almost everything what was on their tortured minds, Rincewind lifted his arm and pointed to the corner of the room where the Luggage was resting peaceful and motionless.

"Do you know what this is?," he asked. His voice was trembling.

"A wooden trunk, it would appear. One that behaves rather strangely.," said Quince as he recalled yesterday's events in Rincewind's office.

"This, my dear lad, is Luggage. It is made of sapient pearwood, not that this would mean anything to you. It is the most powerful magical artifact ever to be found on the entire Discworld. Not to mention that it had swallowed the Octavo, the most powerful spell book, the Creator's personal grimoire."

Rincewind dramatically paused for couple seconds.

"I mean, it used to be the most powerful magical artifact. Until yesterday..."

Quince would looked rather baffled, so Rincewind went on:

"The Luggage has only one purpose, only one inner order that it follows. And that is to do anything and everything to ensure the best for its master. Who would happen to be me, unfortunately..."

Quince blinked several times and shook his head as a sign of not understanding. Rincewind sighed.

"The problem is, it is very peculiar, very independent so to say. It doesn't always follow its master's conscious wishes. It figures them out itself..."

Still no grasp on Quince's side.

"Don't you understand? The Luggage must have decided to pass its immense powers onto us when it heard our conversation the other day!"

Chapter 5: The one man who would not know

"What are we going to do...?," broke Quince the stifling silence with an obvious question.

Rincewind absently shook his head and fixed his eyes out of the window to the distant and uncertain awayness.

"I don't know...," he whispered softly.

The nervousness of both men in the room manifested itself through several effects – the room darkened into a gloomy shade of unidentifiable bluish color, the leafs of nearby palm tree, which Quince kept instead of having a pet and loved above all, shivered and started to go slightly lank and even the table at which our couple was sitting seemed to shrug. The Luggage lied inertly and looked perfectly indifferent to all we have just mentioned. If it knew that Quince was watching it, it maintained perfectly uncaring attitude and expression. Suddenly Rincewind's eyes widened with hope.

"I do know!," he shouted. "We have to find Twoflower, of course!"

"_Twoflower_? What the hell is this Twoflower and how would it help us?"

"Not what, but who, you ignorant...," Rincewind couldn't come up with any suitable noun, so he went on.

"Twoflower is my old friend who once owned the Luggage. In fact, he had owned it quite for some time."

"As you had..."

"True, but he had been _using _it, as opposed to me. He will surely know what to..."

The sentence was never finished. Rincewind's voice faded out at the last syllables.

"Well, now when I come to think about it, he is the last man who would know anything, but still, it's our best chance."

And Rincewind carried on filling Quince in with the details of his and Twoflower's story. His facial expressions alternated between happily-looking ones and those that reflected fear of the strongest sort. The ambience of the room kept changing accordingly. When Rincewind finished talking, he took a deep breath and delivered the punch line.

"And he lives literally on the other side of the world. He resides in Bes Pelargic, a city in the Agatean Empire. On the Counterweight Continent...," said Rincewind sounding rather devastated.

Quince sat petrified with his mouth wide open. After couple seconds during which his brain was fruitlessly trying to take in all the madness Rincewind had spoken about, he blinked and shook his head in attempt to clear his mind. Finally immense delight seized him.

"So it's true! All the rumors about you. I knew it, I knew there was something about you. You are the most adventurous man I have ever known!," yelled excited Quince.

Rincewind winced at the sound of the word.

Meanwhile a three foot tall mushroom arose from the table, as Quince was yelling. Its cap, over two foot in diameter, sparkled with all imaginable colors and also with some unimaginable ones as well. It tilted towards the window.

Rincewind, visibly nervous, switched into defense:

"No, I am most definitely not. If anything I am the most unfortunate, most violated, most-dragged-all-around-the-world-against-his-will-and-almost-gotten-killed-like-thirty-times man!," he exploded hysterically.

So did the mushroom, covering the whole room in rainbowy slime. Bothe men ducked and tried to protect their faces.

"Alright, alright. First thing, we need to calm down. Neither of us is able to control the magic we possess.," began Rincewind constructively while wiping the poor mushroom's remains. "Someone might get hurt. Second, we need to find Twoflower and somehow manage to rid ourselves of this... this curse!"

"Curse? I view it as blessing. Imagine, how our lives might be, if we just learnt to channel it into this world properly."

"Young man, I have been studying magic for years, decades even, and I am telling you, to let go of such ideas! Even I am scared of our new situation and I, as you know, am a wizard. It is not just so, to be a wizard. You have to be born one and then cultivate your powers, gently, thoroughly and most important of all slowly. Step by step. Oh dammit, how you remind me of him."

Rincewind willingly did not mention the whole truth about his decades-long studies of magic and especially the fact, that he had not been able to learn but one spell. After all, Quince did not need to know everything of his past, he decided.

"You irradiate magic, you sparkle with it, yet you are no wizard. If anything, you are a walking time bomb at best."

Rincewind tellingly looked at the wall dripping with red and yellow jelly and wiped his forehead with a tip of his burnt robe.

"If you know what I mean..."

Quince knew it. Or at least he thought he knew. But something in the back of his head was pushing him not to know. The cheeky reckless part of his brain started to tickle and send bold ideas through his whole body.

"Yes. You're right, I guess. Let's do as you say," mumbled Quince. The octagons in his eyes flashed with an octarine tone.

"Then let us not waste another minute that could cost us much!" exclaimed Rincewind.

He snapped his fingers.

"Come on, Luggage, let's go find your old master!"

Quince gave him a lenient yet amused look.

"Oh, right. I forgot. Gnarry, Lixus, come in here and get that god damned trunk..."

"Dean, mister Rincewind, I yet have something to attend to," said Quince silently. "I shall meet you at the university tomorrow first light. I'm sure you have preparations of your own there."

"Right, correct. It is settled then."

Rincewind and his servants walked out of the room and Quince was left alone. A faint smile appeared on his lips. He thought for a moment and watched the walls bend in a little bit as he was doing so. Finally he took a deep breath and snapped his fingers relieving the room from the influence of the raw power of now _his_ magic.

"We are going to have so much fun," he thought for himself. "And I know just how to enjoy it to the full."

Quince Would stood up from his table and stretched his back.

"Joremy," he shouted. "Prepare my travel bag. I will be departing presently!"

* * *

[1] I borrowed this very phrase from sir Terry's book "The color of Magic" since it is of such language complexity and stylistic height that I would never be able to come up with similar one. Do not take it as plagiarism, please.

(Shall I upload some more? Please tell me, if you like this.)


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